Clara's Descent
by Callista Adderwell
Summary: The Doctor's companions go through so much and Clara Oswald knows this just as well as anyone. But now that she's escaped the Doctor's timeline, she's ready to get back to her life of teaching and traveling with the Doctor. But something is amiss. Clara's finding herself more and more unstable, as her past lives come back to haunt her.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! This marks my return to fan fiction after school unsurprisingly got in the way. I do hope you enjoy, though I can't make any guarantees that this will be updated regularly (but knowing that people are reading will help). After the 50th, I had waves of inspiration and this is just one of the outlets. Alright, thanks for hearing me out and I do hope you enjoy.**

"More beautiful than I could have imagined." Oswin said to herself as she stared up at the silver beauty that was to be her home for who knows how long. The ship almost seemed to glow under the sun's rays, almost a heavenly glow around it. And that was how Oswin saw it, as a heaven. It was her ticket to see the universe, to explore and have the adventure of a lifetime.

The excitement rushed through her veins. She could see her whole life ahead of her, traveling to strange places, seeing the most unique creatures and, above all else, just living. Really living. She had her whole life ahead of her.

And then they crashed… straight into the Dalek asylum.

Suddenly, her life was gone. Her humanity was gone. She was being poked, prodded and finally opened up by slimy Dalek tendrils, by far too sharp scalpels, by terrible twisting wires. And then it was done and she couldn't tell the difference between what was an arm and what was an eyestalk. And what was worse, was that word. It kept creeping into the thoughts, even when it had no place being there. Exterminate. There it was again. Always there, always in her head, egging her on. Telling her to give up and let it take over. Let the Dalek hive-mind take over. Exterminate. Exterminate. And how could she resist? Who was she anymore? What was she?

And in a fit of blood curdling screams, Clara Oswin Oswald woke up.

It wasn't real, Clara reminded herself. It was just a dream and nothing more. She wasn't a Dalek. She was human. She wasn't Oswin. She was Clara. With a deep breath she repeated, "I am Clara Oswald. I am Clara Oswald." Over and over again, to herself.

The darkness of the night surrounded her, paralyzed her. She couldn't move. And all her breath seemed capable of was to repeat her mantra. "I am Clara Oswald." Still, even as she lay awake, paralyzed by her own mind, the quietude of the night had its usual effect and Clara Oswald found herself drifting off to sleep once more.

"Clara!" A familiar energetic voice called, jarring Clara from her fitful sleep. She sat up slowly, half expecting to find herself in the Dalek asylum again. No. She was in her room. She breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the clock on her nightstand. 10:54 AM Wednesday November 27. Wednesday!

She jumped out of bed, getting twisted in the covers and crashing onto the floor in a tangle of limbs and linen. "Doctor!" She cried as she wiggled her way out from under the covers. "Doctor! Up here!"

"I'm coming!" His exuberant voice sang. The click and clack of shoes on the stairs  
followed and she could picture him climbing, no running, taking two steps at a time, up the stairs.

Meanwhile, Clara stood up and dusted herself off. "Well, I seem to have gotten away injury free… this time." She said and turned towards the door, expecting the Doctor to fly through it at any moment. But on her way, she caught a look at herself in the mirror.

In a sudden flash, she was taken back to her dream. There they were, the Daleks, staring at her, watching her, calculating the best ways to chop her into little pieces while preserving the brain. They eyed her greedily, as if she was nothing more than a piggy bank, waiting to be cracked open for the wealth inside.

"Stop!" Clara cried, and this time it was her screaming. It wasn't Oswin or anyone else, it was her. She could feel them cutting into her. Taking her apart. "Stop! Stop!" She cried again, knowing it was no use. "Please." She sobbed, shutting her eyes tight as the cool, salty tears started to roll down her face.

"Clara!" Who was that? His voice was so distant, yet so familiar. "Clara!"

"Stop!" She yelled again, even though her lungs were screaming for air, it was all she could think to do. "Please stop!"

"Clara, listen to me." The voice said and suddenly someone had taken her hands. "Listen to me." No matter how much she thrashed, the voice held her hands tight and said to her, his voice calm and soothing. "Clara. Stop. It's me. Listen to me, Clara. Listen to the sound of my voice."

The voice was so familiar. And then it hit her. "Doctor!" She cried, opening her eyes to find him holding her hands tightly and staring into her face. She looked around; she was on the ground, in a corner, crouched down as though something had backed her into the wall.

"Clara," He asked, his eyes sparkling with worry. ", what is going on?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Firstly, thank you all so much for your positive feedback and those of you who followed and/or favorite this story. Thank you so much. Secondly, you will notice that this chapter is pretty short. I apologize for this, but due to my busy schedule I think this story will probably be told in short scenes instead of long chapters. This will ensure that I don't go several months without posting anything at all. Thanks for taking the time to read all that and thanks again for the feedback. As always reviews, criticism, etc. are extraordinarily important to me. Thanks again! Enjoy.**

"Clara, what's going on?" He repeated when she didn't answer.

"Doctor…" Clara mumbled, her voice weak as the pressure in her head increased. It was hard to explain what was going on up there. If she could've gotten her mouth to work properly, she would have told him how she could hear her own voice sounding in her head. Over and over again, yet different each time. Not quite her. She could see things too. Places she'd never gone to; people she'd never met.

She wanted to tell him everything, but she couldn't and not just because she was physically unable. The look on his face right now was heartbreaking. Lines filled with sorrow had etched themselves deep into his face. In each line she could see another life lost, another victim of time and, she quickly realized, of being with him. The guilt in his eyes, she could see, was enough to drive a person mad.

She saw him carry this burden every day, but never had she seen him like this, so old, so fragile. He was like a twig being bent. At any moment it would break. And she was that last bit of force. She couldn't let that happen. She couldn't let the Doctor snap.

The voices in her head were growing softer and with them the images too faded. She could see the present, what was in front of her, and could remember her own life. But for how long? She wondered.

Still she couldn't reveal this to the Doctor. The old man staring into her eyes, pleading with her to be okay, couldn't take it.

"Just a nightmare." She answered unconvincingly.


	3. Chapter 3

**My apologies for the extraordinary shortness of this scene. I hope to have another chapter up soon. Thank you all so much for your support! I love to hear what you think, so please, if you have a minute, a review would be lovely. It's the only way I can improve. Thanks!**

"Clara," The Doctor said, pushing her hair out of her face and behind her ear. ", that was not a nightmare." Then, more softly. "I should know."

"No, really," Clara said as the Doctor helped her to her feet. ", that's what it was. Just a nightmare. Just a nightmare."

She hadn't meant to repeat herself, but there was nothing else to say. Maybe, she thought, if she kept telling him that, kept telling herself that, then that is what it would become. The feelings of pain, torment, of a life that wasn't quite hers, would fade, like the memory of a dream.

But it was still fresh in her mind. The screams. The panic. The terror. The Daleks. And finally, the death.

She remembered its feeling all too well. It felt grey and grim and even though she couldn't actually see a grim reaper, she'd felt his presence. Standing over her. Watching her. Then with a quick slash of his scythe, he'd ended it, ended her.

That was what death felt like, the snap of a string that had once felt so long, suddenly cut short. It was a feeling she couldn't shake. It had taken hold, deep in the pit of her stomach, in her heart and, perhaps worst of all, in her mind.


	4. Chapter 4

**I just want to say thanks again to everyone who's been reading and supporting this story. You guys are the best!**

The Doctor knew very well that Clara had not had a nightmare. In more than one thousand years, he should know when someone had had a nightmare, besides he had enough experience from his own. Clara had been through a lot, he decided, and maybe what she needed was a rest… or maybe what she needed was a trip to a far off planet to take her mind of things.

Perhaps a little selfishly, the Doctor decided the latter was the best option. He pulled Clara to her feet and sashayed towards the door, pulling her along in the process. "Come on, Clara Oswin Oswald! What you need is an adventure on a distant planet! That'll take your mind off things!" He cried, pulling her down the stairs and out the front door.

She complied surprisingly easily and without a word. It was obvious that she too wanted to forget; she wanted to be distracted by all the whimsical wonder that the Doctor could offer. So she let him pull her towards the big blue police box that sat on the sidewalk in front of the house.

"So," The Doctor asked eagerly, doing his best to hide his fear and guilt. ", where do you want to go?"

"I really don't know." Clara answered as the Doctor opened the TARDIS door and the two entered the time machine.

"Oh come on!" The Doctor cried, ignoring her uncharacteristic quietness. "Anywhere in time and space! Anywhere!"

Clara shook her head and walked towards the console on wobbly, unsure feet.

"Well, I suppose I could choose." The Doctor said thoughtfully as he took the steps two at a time up to the control panel. _Everything's okay. Everything's okay._ He told himself. It had to be. He wasn't ready to lose her. He couldn't go through that again. She was going to be okay. He had to keep telling himself that or he'd stop believing it.

"What do you think, Clara, a distant planet?" He asked, turning away from the control panel to find her clutching the railing as though without its support she would fall to the ground.

She just nodded, her mouth open slightly taking in deep rasps of ragged air, her eyes blank, off a thousand miles away. He wasn't even sure she'd heard him.

He sighed and turned back to the control panel. He bit his lip; he could feel tears springing to his weary, old eyes. _No, please, not again. Be okay. Be okay._ He thought. _This can't be happening. Not again._

Quickly, he turned around again, this time to find Clara sitting on the steps, now unable to stand. Her eyes were as blank as before, utterly devoid of energy or warmth. She held her hands together on her lap; they twitched every so often. Her mouth still hung open slightly, but the rasping breaths had stopped, replaced by a breath so quiet and so shallow that it almost looked like she wasn't breathing.

She may have appeared to be staring into space, but the Doctor could see that she wasn't even on this plane of reality. She wasn't on Earth or in the TARDIS or even anywhere in this universe. No, she was in a far darker, more twisted place than the physical world. She was in her own mind.


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm sorry it's taken so long to post. School and holidays make for a busy life. Anyway, thanks everyone for the support and I hope you enjoy this chapter. I hope to post again soon.**

"Clara! Clara!" A familiar voice called through the darkness, but the voice was muffled as if it was calling to her from across the universe. The more and more it called to her the more muffled it became and as the voice grew fainter, the darkness evaporated, replaced by a growing image.

Clara could feel herself changing as well. Something inside of her was rewriting itself. It sort of felt like having a knot in your stomach, but deeper than that as if that knot went into your very being. She could tell that fundamentally she was still herself, but something was changing. The only way she could have described it was that it was like starting over a new life.

Finally, the scene came into full view and, although it was only in her mind, it felt utterly real to Clara. She found herself, or something akin to herself, standing ankle-deep in a snowy Victorian square. A flurry of activity surrounded her on all sides. Ragamuffin boys ran down the streets throwing powdery snowballs at each other and any unlucky passerby. Their boots crunched against the crisp snow, mixing in with the cries of drunken delight from the pub down the way. Carriages rolled by, pulled by strong sure horses and carrying the silhouettes of the astoundingly rich.

But one carriage was different. It passed by Clara quickly, but even so the driver had caught her eye. His suit was ill-fitting against his stocky body, but what had really caught Clara's eye was his head. It was large, larger than any humans and could only be described as potato-like.

Clara spun around, her deep red dress flying out like a doily blowing in the breeze, trying to follow it. She managed one glance of the carriages occupant as it turned a corner. It was a man in a top hat, but there was something eerily familiar about him. That nose. That chin.

"Doctor!" She cried, surprised to find her voice was so strong. "Doctor!" But it was too late, the carriage was gone.


End file.
